lead me down to the dusty garden
by egelantier
Summary: After Gralea, Gladio forced Ignis to stay in Lestallum for his own safety. Unfortunately, Ardyn had other plans.
1. and here they lie children forsaken

No matter how many times they returned to it, climbing the stairs of Lestallum without its punishing sunlight pounding on his back and head was weird. The light bearing down on them was artificial now, Lestallum's lights blazing at all times of the day, and the air, even with the remaining meteor shards, was cool. Maybe even pleasantly cool, but Gladio would've paid a fortune to sweat and grumble and complain about the heat again.

"Can't wait to see Iggy," Prompto said with forced brightness by his side. "I bet he's gotten some serious gossip to share."

Gladio grunted in lieu of an answer; he didn't really want to talk about Ignis. He tried to remember what intersection they needed to take next. Back then, due to being in Holly's good graces, they've snagged a ground floor of a little house to themselves, with a cellar attached, but it was somewhere deep in the guts of Lestallum, and for some reason Gladio could never quite find his way there on the first try, despite coming back several times.

Maybe he could beg his way into one of those cramped apartments closer to the center, for expediency's sake. Pay his way with labor, leave Prompto to entertain Iggy with news and answer his questions.

He hadn't done it yet, though, and Prompto solved his dilemma by tugging him in the right direction. Two stairways later, he remembered where they were, about ten minutes away from opening the door and letting themselves in.

"Six," Prompto said, "I hope Ignis didn't use up all the hot water yet. I could _kill_ for a shower. I have daemon gunk in the places I didn't know I had."

"Yeah," Gladio said, curtly. So did he - they were almost two months on the road, the longest away from Lestallum since the sun went out, and between keeping watch and making sure everybody made it through in one piece he'd barely snatched more than a few hours of sleep here and there - but somehow he couldn't muster up any joy at the image of the little cramped shower cabin. He could barely move around without banging his shoulders, and - and it probably was dirty, to boot. It's not like Ignis could clean it properly.

Finally, they were on their street. Gladio squinted and tried to imagine how it was in normal Lestallum: narrow, winding, the shadows softening it, making it quiet and alluring. Now еhe bright sodium light brought every crack in the pavement and every scuff mark on the walls into sharp relief, illuminated every piece of garbage strewn around. It looked sterile and dirty at once. People scurried past them, their heads down and their clothes worn.

Their house was sixteenth on the left side. Gladio hung back and let Prompto deal with the keys. He wondered if he could get away with claiming exhaustion and going straight to the guest bedroom to sleep, without chit-chat or anything.

Prompto opened the door, and Gladio blinked in surprise at the bright light inside.

"Huh," Prompto said. "Maybe somebody saw us at the checkpoint and told him? Hey, Igster! We're home!"

Gladio braced himself and then blinked in surprise; the steps coming from the kitchen were brisk and sure, with none of the careful, just a bit hesitant shuffle Gladio expected - and without the accompanying thump of the cane.

Ignis came out into the hallway and smiled at them both. "Ah, welcome home! I hadn't expected you for a while, I'm afraid. Come in, come in."

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the apartment. Gladio gaped at the empty doorway in astonishment, and Prompto threw him a quick, startled glance, but obediently bent down to unlace his boots.

They followed the distant clatter into the apartment. Gladio frowned at the state of the main room: clothes and junk on the floor, a couple of pillows, a throw blanket. Didn't Ignis realize stuff on the floor was dangerous for him?

"Just a minute," Ignis shouted from the kitchen, over the hum of the microwave. "Take a seat!"

Gladio dropped onto the sofa, and Prompto collapsed into the chair across from him. "Oh, man," Prompto whispered, "is he cooking again? Can you believe that?"

The microwave dinged, and Ignis came out into the room, carrying two plates like a waiter. He walked unerringly to the table and dropped them off without hesitation. "Just rations, I'm afraid," he said, "the fresh food had been somehow scarce. Enjoy!"

Gladio stared at him. "I thought you didn't know we were coming? Where'd you get extra rations?"

Ignis paused for a moment but smiled at him again, all determination and teeth. "I knew you'd come sooner or later, and those things keep. I've just saved a couple in advance to welcome my friends home. Should I not have?"

Prompto, who could never stand a hint of conflict in the room, broke in. "And a good thing you did, Igster! I'm so hungry I could eat my boots!"

"Indeed," Ignis said, "indeed, tuck in. How was your trip?"

"Fine," Gladio said. He concentrated on chewing so he wouldn't say anything else; Ignis' tone was grating on his nerves.

"It was okay," Prompto said, bound and determined to bulldoze them into normalcy, and for a second Gladio was so exhausted with him his teeth ached. "We cleared the road between Galdin Quay and here out, put up all those new lamp. It should be good for the caravans for a while."

"Excellent civic work," Ignis said, pleasantly. He was giving Gladio an uncanny impression he was looking straight at him, even though his head was tilted away, and his eyes were - well.

Gladio rolled his shoulders. "Why aren't you eating? It's better not be your own portion I'm having, Ignis."

"Thank you for your concern, Gladio. I'm simply not hungry, that's all."

"And what have you been up to, Iggy? What's new in Lestallum?"

"Ah," Ignis said, breezily, "this and that. Nothing to compare to your good effort."

And just like that, the remains of Gladio's appetite fled. He put the fork down with a clatter. "Ignis," he said, "either get it out or shut the fuck up. You might get around three rooms okay now, but there's no fucking way you could be anything but a problem in a real fight, and you - "

"But of course," Ignis said, smoothly rising to his feet. "Dear Gladiolus, you've made it crystal clear at our parting."

"_It's not like you fucking argued,_" Gladio hissed at him. Between them, Prompto was trying to melt into the sofa, looking back and forth with wide, unhappy eyes. "You know it's dangerous, for you and for the others."

"Such inspiring concern about my welfare, as always."

Gladio clenched his fists almost against his own volition. "Cut the crap, Iggy. Didn't hear you arguing back then, did I?"

He was breathing heavily. Gladio could remember the nightmarish trek out of Gralea, Ignis stumbling and silent, Prompto maniacally trying to stay cheerful, hiding from the daemons in half-ruined houses strewn with empty clothes, hunger and sleepless nights, always staying on guard. He had kept pushing and pushing Ignis, waiting for him to fight, and Ignis had just folded and folded, like a house of fucking cards, and _now_ he has the fucking gall to...

"But how could I," Ignis said smoothly, unruffled, with an ironic half-twist of his lips Gladio suddenly longed to smash off his face. "You were so persuasive! So solicitous!"

His voice turned vicious. "After all, you couldn't exert this courtesy to our King, could you? I wouldn't dream of denying you the opportunity to, ah, close the barn door after the chocobos were all gone."

Gladio saw red; he always thought it was just a figure of speech, but he felt it now, the room wavering and crimson around him, and he was on his feet, and lunged -

"Iggy," Prompto said urgently, and the rising - something - in his voice yanked Gladio still. "What did you make for Noct the first time we were in Lestallum? After we first went to the market?"

Gladio gaped; Ignis turned to Prompto, a quick, weirdly mechanic motion, like he moved his body instead of -

"Something he liked, no doubt. It's been so long ago - "

Prompto's gun barked, shockingly loud. Gladio recoiled, for a moment so overwhelmed by the sheer surreality of the world around his mind refused to cope. He felt, with incredibly compelling clarity, the sharp rocks of the latest haven they'd camped at under his back.

Ignis flew back, the surprise on his face almost comical. He slid down the wall, hand trying to cover a jagged hole in the front of his shirt, left of the center, his heart, no hope, Prompto had goneinsane, what could he -

Then Ignis threw his head back and laughed, loud and gurgling; the wound between his fingers wept black, and when he looked back at them it was with malevolent, amber eyes.

"Ah," he said, in the oily voice that still chased Gladio through his dreams sometimes. "Clever little thing, aren't you, my dear?"

Gladio groped for the Armiger and couldn't touch it; his body refused to move. Prompto was motionless too, caught surging up from his seat; his face was bleached entirely pale, eyes shockingly dark.

"Where's he?"

"Safe and sound, of course," Ardyn said. He got to his feet in an expansive, sweeping motion, Ignis' face nauseatingly flowing and changing over its bones.

He strode between them, pausing to pat Gladio's cheek, not paying any attention to a strained sound of rage Gladio managed to push through his frozen lips. "After all, that was what you left him for, wasn't it? I just kept him company."

"And now," he said, "as entertaining as it was, I must bid you my farewell. Places to see, daemons to herd... But rest assured, you have my thanks for your friend's delightful hospitality."

The entrance door slammed shut a moment later, and the spell holding them snapped clean. Gladio's sword was in his hand, useless in the tiny room; he looked across the strewn table at Prompto, seeing his own horror reflecting back.

They tore through the house, rooms empty and dark, until the only space left to check was the basement.

At the top of basement stairs Gladio flicked the switch, and the light came on immediately, spilling from the crack of the open door downstairs. It scared him more than any kind of horror movie setup - darkness, of flickering lights, creaking steps - would have. But he took the steps down nevertheless, weapon in hand and Prompto close on his heels, and if his head was full of useless, warbled prayers, nobody had to know about it.

The door opened easily under his hand. Nothing jumped out at them, shrieking, from beyond. The cellar, lit by the bright unforgiving light, was too small and too empty to hide anything - shelves full of empty jars and rusty tools, cardboard boxes piled in one corner around a wooden crate, cheap tacky linoleum on the floor. No blood, no chains, no - no body.

He turned to Prompto, floundering, feeling like if he did lose momentum now, here, he would stop and drown. "Could Ardyn take him out of Lestallum? He said 'safe and sound,' what - nearest haven? We have to go, ask Holly for help, set up a search grid."

"Wait," Prompto said. He looked sick, washed out, face the color of old bleached linen, and Gladio knew he was remembering another brightly lit cell - and that tray of shiny sharp instruments Gladio had thrown to the floor in his hurry to get him off that cross.

"Wait," Prompto said again, almost dreamily. "Safe and sound..." He took a step forward as if there were something compelling and gross in equal measure pulling him forward - and Gladio looked along with him, and saw, again, that wooden crate in the corner.

He lunged forward, scattering the boxes - Gods, Gods - the crate was nailed shut, the nails mockingly bright and new in the old planks. The greatsword made for a shitty crowbar, but he managed to get it under the crate lid anyway and pushed with all his might, and with a groan of wood the lid gave. The stench hit him like a closed fist. Human waste, old blood, sour smell of infection; he heard Prompto retch behind his back. He had to make himself look.

Ignis was naked, folded up tightly on the bottom of the crate. His tied hands were tucked under his chin, the skin under rough twine bloody and torn, weeping pus; same with his ankles. Gladio couldn't tell if he was breathing. Prompto made a high, horrified sound, almost a whine.

Gladio disappeared the sword without a thought; he reached into the crate with shaking hands, meaningless words spilling from him without his conscious input. "Now," and "I'm here," and "please," and "please," and "please."

Under his palms, Ignis felt brittle, feather-light, a pile of old tissue paper rather than flesh and bones; Gladio pulled him out of the crate practically without an effort, like he were an infant. He cradled Ignis to his chest - he needed to check if Ignis was breathing, if Ignis was - and Ignis' body tensed in his arms, coiled desperately. There was a familiar tug on the armiger, and Gladio threw himself back on instinct rather than thought, so Ignis' desperate dagger strike scored a hot line against his cheek instead of opening his throat up.

They crashed to the floor. Gladio twisted to avoid the second hit, and Prompto was on top of them in the next second, grabbing Ignis' shoulders and holding on to him. Ignis was shuddering, more intent than movement - sounds were spilling from him, rasping and unfamiliar, a shadow of words. "Stop being him, stop, stop, you don't have a right, stop being..."

Gladio sat up slowly, his head still ringing from its smack against the floor. He looked at the tableau before him without really understanding it, like it was happening somewhere else and to somebody else. Prompto had dismissed the dagger back to the armiger, and Ignis ran out of whatever little store of energy he possessed; he went slack in Prompto's horrified hold. He hadn't tried to uncurl, and probably couldn't; Gladio could see the open sores on his left flank, his thighs, his arms, could trace the bumps of his spinal column and count his every rib.

They'd been away for two months. He'd made Ignis stay in Lestallum. His mind shied away from themath.

He climbed back to his knees and crawled over to Prompto and Ignis. "Iggy," he said; his own voice was hoarse as if he'd been shouting for hours. "Ignis. It's us."

Ignis jerked his head away, folding tighter in on himself.

"I'm sorry," Gladio said, uselessly. He called the knife again and attacked the twine around Ignis' ankles, for the lack of anything better to do. His fingers slipped in blood and gore, and Ignis' breath hitched with each tug on the rope. Gladio had to dig the twine out of his bloody skin. Prompto was back to talking, hysterically fast, spilling reassurances and apologies and arguments into the void of Ignis' terror without a result.

The knife slipped through Gladio's fingers, clattered on the floor; for a moment he couldn't make himself pick it back up. He cupped Ignis' cheek again, dry skin stretched tightly against his high cheekbone. "I just wanted you to be safe," he said, and the words cut his throat to shreds, coming out. "I swear to Six, that's all I wanted to do."

"Liar," Ignis spat, and for all that he was talking to Ardyn, the word found home when the dagger didn't.

Ignis went silent and still. Prompto scrambled for his pulse, and Gladio made his fingers uncurl, one by one, and pick up the knife, and finish the job of setting Ignis free. He climbed to his feet and took Ignis from Prompto's arms, holding him to his chest like Ignis were a child, and carried him out of the basement. Step by rickety step.

* * *

On the top of the stairs he had to stop for a while, shake his head; he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do next. Ignis felt unsubstantial in his arms, weightless; Gladio kept glancing at him and then away. The stench was more of a living presence than Ignis himself.

Prompto touched his elbow. "Bathroom. We need to," and Gladio saw the convulsive bobble of his throat, "clean it all out before we use the potions."

Gladio followed him. Prompto busied himself with getting the first aid kit, and Gladio stared dumbly at the shower cubicle.

It was, like he expected, dirty, and at the sight of it he felt a stab of such wild rage - at himself, at Ignis who couldn't stay whole, at Noct who abandoned them - that he finally woke up.

"We can't put him in there," he said and heard the fury in his voice. "He'll get another infection just from the floor."

"Yeah," Prompto said with false nonchalance, "I don't think Ardyn was super concerned with housekeeping."

Eventually, Gladio settled down on the floor of the shower cabin himself, legs out of the door, and settled Ignis - still curled up, and he didn't relish the prospect of getting him straightened out- in his lap. Prompto took the shower head and hovered around them.

Water ran down Ignis' legs and stomach, murky and disgusting, splashed on the bathroom floor. Ignis was rigid and unmoving in his arms - they had to move him around, force his limbs apart, and if not for the soundless puff of his breath against Gladio's throat, he'd think they were washing a corpse.

On his left side the pressure sores were the deepest, creeping into Ignis' flesh almost to the bone. Prompto's hands, busy with antiseptic and cotton and water, shook; Gladio stared until everything dissolved into a weird, senseless blur of white and red and blue and black, devoid of meaning, devoid of pain.

The grouty tiles dug painfully into Gladio's back. It felt unreal, like it were one of the six hells, one reserved to people who failed in their duties as comprehensively, as horribly, as Gladio had. But the water had barely begun to run cold when it was over. Prompto disappeared for a while, then returned with a clean sheet. He helped wrap Ignis up and held onto Ignis as Gladio rose, grunting, to his feet. He was silent. They stared at each other for a while.

"Bedroom," Prompto said, finally. "Come on."

They had to go through the living room again - Gladio saw the bullet hole in the wall, splattered by the black gunk, and shuddered in visceral revulsion. The bedroom was dark and empty, the bet immaculately made, a thin layer of dust on the bedspread.

Prompto swiped it off, and Gladio lowered Ignis down carefully; his hands shook with the strain he hadn't noticed until now. "Elixir," he said, harshly.

Prompto pulled it; they were down to six, the rest of their precious supply given to Cor to share with the glaives and the hunters. It wasn't even _supposed_ to be used within the city walls, not for anything short of a mortal wound. But just imagining taking Ignis to the overwhelmed bustle of Lestallum's hospital, surrendering him to the indifferent, jeering strangers - when any of them could be Ardyn again, waiting, mocking - Prompto nodded at him, and upended the bottle over Ignis' still form.

The light of Noct's magic at once comforted Gladio and caused a fresh stab of rage - if only he were here! If only, if only - as it ran over Ignis' bruise-mottled skin, knitting flesh together. Despite knowing better, Gladio hoped that it would be it, that Ignis would sit up, pristine and annoyed, and bitch them out for being so late to the rescue. But of course, it didn't work like that. The deepest sores left ugly scars behind, to keep company with the old branching burns whose origin Gladio knew and hated. The bruises faded from deep black to light yellow; Ignis' limbs didn't lose their rigid fold. And, with his skin clean and whole, Ignis' state of emaciation looked even more obscene.

"_Gods_," Prompto said. "Gods. He couldn't spend all that time without water. He would have died. How?"

"You know how," Gladio said, harsher than he intended.

_Stop being him_, shouted in the desperate ruin of Ignis' voice, hung between them. Prompto stared at him, then swallowed, swallowed again; his face lost what little color it still kept. He turned on his heel and stumbled out of the bedroom; in a moment Gladio heard him coughing and retching.

He wanted to follow him - to comfort - to fix at least _something_ in this miserable mess. But just the idea of leaving Ignis alone even for a moment made his chest tight with panic.

He leaned over Ignis and laid his palms against one folded arm, massaged gently, quietly, feather light. The arm refused to stretch out. He wanted Ignis to wake up, and dreaded it: both Ignis not knowing who he was, trying to fight in horror and last dregs of defiance, and Ignis recognizing him and throwing his sins into his face.

He would wake up, though. He would wake up, and if Gladio needed to stay by his side every day until Noct's return to keep him safe, that's what he would do. "I swear," he said, and held his breath, but Ignis didn't wake. "I swear, Iggy."

Some time late Prompto, red-eyed and hoarse, slipped back into the room. "Sorry, big guy," he said, and Gladio nodded at him. "He's still out?"

"Yeah," Gladio said, "that's probably for the best. We need to have it together when he wakes up. He's not out of the woods yet."

Prompto stopped by the bed and awkwardly, gently touched the sole of Ignis' foot. "The fridge is empty. Do you think Ardyn fed him at all?"

Gladio shrugged helplessly. "He obviously wanted to keep him alive, but - you see. We need to be very careful with the food now, because - "

"I know," Prompto said, too quickly. "Electrolytes, juice, broth, baby food, the works. It's - Gladio, should we take him to the hospital? If we fuck this up..."

Gladio's throat seized. "Too many people. We can't protect him there."

"Okay," Prompto said. "Okay. Let me go and get something. Talk to Holly, cash in the trophies. We can take it slow and see."

Gladio could've kissed him in gratitude. Then Prompto grimaced. "How do you know that I'm, you know. Me. When I come back? If he can look like - I think he wanted us to find out, that's why he talked like that, but if he didn't - if he just kept pretending to be Ignis, and we bought it, and we, like, crashed for a couple of days and went back out - we could've been sleeping right now, over his head, while he was - in that goddamn box - "

He was breathing faster and faster, blotchy red returning to his cheek, and Gladio abandoned Ignis' side and went over to them, folded him to himself - warm and solid, muscle and wet clothes, alive and familiar.

"Hey," he said, "hey, no. We got him, it didn't happen, we got him, it's not happening again. He's not there, he's here, he's healed, he's going to be fine. Don't fall apart on me, kid, I can't - "

Prompto pressed his face into his chest; Gladio could feel his erratic, fluttering breathing. "Okay," he said, muffled. "Okay. Passwords from there on, right? Something that only we know. Something that he couldn't - shit, what if Ignis told him something, what if he were watching us, he's like - "

Gladio shook him a bit, gently. "King's Knight, okay? Usernames. Whatever Ardyn knows about us, I bet that's not it."

"Oh," Prompto said. He shuffled out of Gladio's embrace, and Gladio immediately missed the warmth of him. "Okay. Yes. That would work. Okay. I'm going then."

Gladio listened to his steps echoing through the apartment - almost to the door, and then back, anxious, leaning through the doorway. "You got him, right?"

"I do," Gladio said, and wished he didn't feel like he was lying.

* * *

Ignis stayed either asleep or unconscious. Gladio kept working on his limbs, although he knew it was more to reassure himself that Ignis was _there_ than to achieve anything reasonable right now. He kept jumping at every sound, reaching into armiger.

At the second hour he rubbed his face, chasing the sleep away, and was startled to find the cut that Ignis gave him. Ardyn had obviously been blocking Ignis' access to armiger while he had kept him captive. Ignis must've felt its return, and laid in wait, conserving the last of his strength for that one strike, and Gladio felt an intense, scorching burst of pride in him at the memory. But if he woke up and didn't believe them, if he would think himself to still be a prisoner - and, knowing that he wouldn't get a chance to strike again, would go for the last remaining option?

He entertained for a while the blood-freezing visions of Ignis getting a dagger and slitting his wrists the moment their backs were turned, and finally got up to dump the linens out of the nearest drawer and fill it with everything sharp and small enough from the armiger. The tangle of weapons looked faintly ridiculous. He thought, fleetingly, that Dad would've skinned him alive for treating their weapons like that, and then lost several moments just staring, rubbing hard at the goosebumps rising on his biceps. Dad was dead, and Noct was lost, and the world was in ruins, and here he was - here he was...

He went back to his self-appointed task.

Exhaustion was pulling him in one direction, and tension in the other; when Prompto came in, Gladio almost beheaded him before he came to his senses and pulled the strike at the last moment. Prompto jumped back, hissing "Lokton! Lokton, dude!", but waved away his apologies. He dumped most of his loot on the bedside table.

"Good news is, the hospital people agree that we're better equipped to care for Ignis properly now. Bad news is, I now know everything about the refeeding syndrome, and I'm never going to sleep again, ugh. We have to follow a feeding plan and, like, look out for symptoms, and bring him over immediately if something goes wrong. And I had to like pledge my firstborn for those supplies, those people don't fuck around."

Gladio went to help him to untangle the IV line and dropped it; he stared at it for a while, unsure of how it ended up on the floor, until Prompto took over.

"You need some sleep, Gladio. I'll set it up, I'm still wired."

Gladio wheeled on him, incredulous, ready to rage all over again - and met with Prompto's implacable stare and his hands, pushing at his chest.

"Go to _sleep_. You're too tired to think straight, and I can't deal with both of you out of commission, okay? I'll keep watch, I'm good for another two-three hours, then we'll switch."

He pushed again, herding Gladio to the cot in the corner of the room, and Gladio folded. "We're in for a long haul, and we need to be - we need to be better about this shit. So you're going to sleep, and then I'm going to sleep, and we'll figure out the schedule, and - it's going to be fine."

Gladio looked at Ignis at that; saw him, for a moment, not as a person, but as one of the desiccated, lovingly prepared corpses in royal tombs. "It won't," he said but didn't argue further. He fell sideways on the too-small cot and listened to Prompto bustling around until he couldn't anymore.

* * *

Prompto, true to his word, woke him up later, immediately dropped on the vacated cot, and was snoring before Gladio blinked his eyes fully open. Ignis was still out cold. Gladio checked his pulse, shifted him on the other side, and went to work on his leg.

The sleep he'd got had taken an immediate edge of panic and confusion off, leaving him free to think. He wanted to get Ignis out of this house of horrors, but they were unlikely to find anything in Lestallum not packed to the rafters with people, and the house, at least in theory, was defensible. It's not, he thought with a mirthless snort, like Ignis would know the difference, not for a while.

It was close to dawn, and Gladio was considering waking Prompto up so he could get some food and a desperately needed piss when he realized that Ignis had woken up. He hadn't moved or said anything, that time, but the quality of his motionless silence had changed; under Gladio's arms he was tense and still, holding himself contained like a scared animal.

"Iggy," Gladio said. "You're safe, it's me. We're back, we found you, he's not here."

A slow wave of shaking went through Ignis at that, starting in his shoulders and traveling down; he tucked his head closer to his chest and didn't say anything. Gladio knelt by the bed and took his hand, tugged on it gently, laid it against his cheek; it as cold and stiff like a piece of unyielding metal.

"Come on," he said, helplessly. "Let's get you something to drink."

Ignis' face spasmed at that, but he stayed silent. Gladio hitched him up, supporting his head with his hand. He grabbed one of the juice packages at random and opened the cap with his teeth, brought the juice to Ignis' mouth. Ignis pressed his lips tightly together, rolling his head slightly away. Even this little act of defiance clearly cost him, making him shake harder.

"Just a couple of sips, come on," Gladio said. "Even if you don't believe me, you need to drink, Iggy. You got to stay with us."

The shaking stopped; his entire body just went slack in Gladio's hands. Whatever he was hearing, Gladio had a horrible, sinking feeling he's heard it all before. Like he was fighting for the form's sake, but knew that he would lose, every time.

The Ignis he had known had never accepted defeat, no matter how battered he was. Gladio had always known it by heart, had seen Ignis get up and keep going regardless of how hard he'd been knocked down. Had Ardyn robbed him of that? This time, or earlier?

Had Gladio? The first fight Ignis had walked away, defeated, from was with him, after all. The fight to get him to stay in Lestallum; _safe and sound_, Gladio thought, and Ignis made a small, gasping sound, making Gladio realize that he was crushing Ignis' palm, squeezing it too tightly.

He dropped it like he was burned and stumbled away from the bed in horror - and for a moment he was ready to stumble through the doorway, to tear through the house, to just - keep going until he hit Lestallum gates, to go out into the dark and just run, and run, and run, and run...

He hit the wall, and then again when he did not feel the pain; again, and again; his knuckles split and bled, and he stared at the bright red for a while before the pain registered.

"Wha?..."

Prompto was sitting on the cot, blinking muzzily at him. On the bed, Ignis was trying to tuck himself in even smaller, cover his head with his hands. Ignis didn't have the option of running anymore, and Gladio did not deserve it.

He shook his hand out absentmindedly, flexed the fingers and decided that nothing was broken. "He woke up."

Prompto flew off the bed and skidded across the room. "Ignis! Igster, are you with us?"

Ignis curled up even tighter, and Gladio sighed and went back, making sure not touch Ignis that time. "He doesn't - he didn't believe me."

"Iggy," he tried again, gently. "Come on. Ask me anything. Anything he couldn't have known. Anything only I could know."

He looked at Prompto over Ignis' head and saw despair. Prompto beckoned him over and whispered, "What do we _do_? I _can't_ force feed him, but if he doesn't believe us..."

Gladio rubbed his hand down his face, hard. "See if you can get another IV in. We just have to keep trying."

Prompto busied himself with the needles and bottles, and Gladio went back to the bed. He was careful not to touch Ignis that time, just sat close enough that Ignis could - hopefully - feel the warmth of his body instead of whatever an abomination like Ardyn seems like.

"Hey, Iggy," he said. "Remember how hammered you got when you were eighteen? Noct was at his brattiest, and you stole your ankle's cognac and got absolutely _wasted_, cried on my shoulder about how Noct was growing up badly and it was all your fault. I mocked you for thinking you were actually his mom, and you tried to punch me. Missed a mile wide, too, you were that sloshed. And the next morning Cor rode our asses hard ad in the training, and you threw up all over him? You made me swear I will never ever tell anybody, and here I am, breaking my oath."

Ignis continued rocking in small, minute motions; he didn't give any sign that he heard Gladio, but he wasn't also - screaming, or trying to attack, or reaching for the weapons - so Gladio decided to take what he could.

"Remember how Iris got picked on by this asshole in her class when she was ten, the son of one of Dad's political buddies, and I was going to go and kill him, but you went instead? Scared the pants off the little pissant, all with a smile. He never as much as breathed into Iris' direction again. I still don't know how you did that."

No reaction again. Prompto, jittering nervously, returned to the bed. "Hey, Igster," he said, slowly. "You just listen to Gladio's memory tour, and I'm going to get the IV going, okay? I'll have to put a needle into your hand, sorry about that."

His first touch to Ignis' arm wouldn't have popped a soap bubble, but another wave of shivers went through Ignis nevertheless. "I'm sorry, buddy," Prompto said, sounding on the verge of tears. "I know it's terrifying. I'm sorry he pretended to be us. When he had me, I..."

"Wait a second," Gladio said.

Prompto jolted to a stop, watching him.

"Ignis," Gladio said. "Listen. I know he must've pretended to be either of us. He probably talked to you, and played games, and gave you water, and," - his split knuckles ached when he clenched his fists - "maybe even pretended like you were rescued, only to hurt you again. I _know_ that, I know it's too dangerous for you to trust us now. But had he _ever_ managed to be _both people at once_?"

He held his breath, but Ignis was silent.

"I'm going to take your hand now, okay? And Prompto will take the other. You can touch his face, can touch mine, can ask any questions you want. Whatever he could do, he couldn't do that."

He nodded at Prompto and reached out to take Ignis' hand; thanks to his efforts earlier, he could straighten it out gently now, tug it from under Ignis' chin. Prompto took the other.

Ignis shuddered, but did not resist; his face was twisting as if he was grappling with something too vast, too terrible for him to understand.

Prompto was crying silently, open-mouthed. Gladio just held onto Ignis' hand, determined to wait as long as Ignis needed.

Finally, Ignis opened his mouth. "Prompto," he croaked, "what's my score in Justice Monsters?"

Prompto made a bubbling sound, somewhere between laughter and a sob. "100 001. I think the one on the end was just to fuck with us. Noct was skipping those etiquette classes, and you made him a bet he'd _have_ to go if youl beat his score, and then you went in and fucking obliterated us both. Coolest show of my entire teenage life. I thought you were some kind of a superhero."

Ignis raised his right hand very carefully, and Gladio leaned down to him, scarcely daring to breathe. Ignis touched his fingers to the edge of his scar, traced the edge of his eyebrow. Then he tugged his left hand, and Prompto folded over to him, submitted to the similar examination, letting Ignis smudge the tear tracks on his face.

He released them both and dropped his head back against the pillow. And then, in the almost soundless whisper, asked.

"Why didn't you come?"

Gladio sucked in a breath, reeling, jerking away from Ignis.

"Ignis," Prompto said, faintly; always ready to go into the breach, and at the moment Gladio loved him for this - but it wasn't on him.

He knelt by the bed, took Ignis' palm again and laid it flat against his face, so Ignis could "see" him as he spoke.

"I couldn't bear to look at you," he said; it hurt like an old wound. "I'd look at you getting around, tapping that cane, and all I could see would be how colossally I fucked everything up."

Ignis was silent.

"And I couldn't - I told you it was for your own safety, and it was true, Ignis, I swear on my mother's grave I would've given everything to never see you hurt again. But it also was because I was a coward and because I hated to see my failure. My responsibility."

Ignis was silent still.

"I failed you so badly. But I would do everything to keep from failing you again."

He faltered in the face of Ignis' silence, and Prompto reached over, filled it as he always did. "We won't leave again, Iggy, I swear. You'll get better, and - and if we don't split, Ardyn can't pull this shit again, right? We'll stick by you if you'll - if you'll let us. Please?"

Ignis tugged his hand back from Gladio's loose grip; with a monumental, jerking effort he turned over on his back, dragged his resisting legs away from his chest, put his heels flat on the mattress.

He scrubbed at his face - weakly, jerkily, leaving a wet smeared mess behind - and said, still fighting for air but with great dignity, "I'd like that juice now, please."

Gladio fumbled for the package; his hands shook. He brought it to Ignis' mouth and had to wait - thirty seconds, forty, a minute - while Ignis fought his own resolve.

Prompto looked at them, mouth half-open, face awash in hope. Finally, Ignis opened his lips and took the first sip from Gladio's hands.

"Thank you," Gladio said. "I swear, I..."

Whatever he said, Ignis didn't hear; all the tension left him, and he was fast asleep.


	2. shields there never were

Sleeping was relatively easy. It had been the easiest refuge he could find in the - when he - before. And now, with his body no longer so desperately dehydrated, with his stomach no longer gnawing on itself in agonized hunger, it was a constant temptation. To let the pillows (lumpy, but clean and soft) and sheets (scratchy, but clean and cool) entangle him, shroud him, sing him down to sleep. Telling reality from his dreams was easy; in them, be they pleasant or nightmarish, his eyes did not fail him.

Try as he might have, though, Ignis couldn't sleep without a break. His body betrayed him, over and over: with an ache of his cramped limbs trying to get used to the lack of confinement, with the pressure of his bladder that he now could relieve without soiling himself, with the thirst he could now slack and hunger he could now expect to be fed. He woke up, again and again.

He woke up, and lay very quietly, very still. His body was unfolded; there was no familiar harsh pressure under his right hip, flank and shoulder, no rough twine digging into abraded skin of his wrists and ankles. The pillow under his cheek smelled softly of cheap lye soap. He was wearing pajamas, ratty and too short for his frame, but comfortable enough.

There was somebody in the room, to the right of his bed; he could hear their breathing, slow and measured. He froze, forced himself to not squeeze his eyes shut, to not give himself away, even though it was likely useless: he always gave himself away.

"Hey, Iggy," Gladio's voice said, gruff and sleepy, and Ignis shuddered and couldn't stop himself. _Hey Ignis_, and _did you truly expect us to come for you?_ and _always have been selfish, haven't you?_

He breathed, harsh and fast, trying to pin the remains of his badly tattered dignity to himself - always a lost battle, but if he could hold onto himself for just a moment, just a _second_ -

"Shit," Gladio's voice said. "Shit, Blondie, get up, he's freaking out again."

Prompto's voice, soft and confused with sleep as well, sharpening fast. "Ignis! It's us, buddy, sorry, wait a second..."

Something crashed to the floor; in the murky twilight confusion of the room, there was movement, soft scuffles, sotto voice swearing. Ignis tried to make sense of it over the thundering noise of his heart. He remembered Prompto too: _so who's expendable now, huh, Igster?_ And truer: _maybe you bullied your way into staying with Noct, but you sure weren't of much help, were you?_

But - somebody was on his other side. Two people, two voices; it was important, and he could not remember why.

"It's fine," Prompto - Prompto? - said from his left, soothing. "It's fine. Two of us, remember? Ardyn can't be two of us at once."

"I'm going to take your hand," Gladio said, "and Prompto will take the other, okay? On one."

"Three," Prompto said, "two, one, here we go."

There were two pairs of hands on him - warm, callused, Gladio's huge palms and Prompto's smaller ones. His brain scrambled to make sense of the sensation, lagging behind his body. Two pair of hands; two people. He'd been rescued.

"Apologies," Ignis rasped, and couldn't recognize his own voice for a moment. "I must've been confused."

"It's alright," Prompto said. "Waking up is the worst, isn't it?"

There was an awkward pause. He imagined them exchanging silent glances over his head; for a moment he hated their solicitousness, but he was achingly, horribly grateful to them too. Prompto began petting his arm, seemingly unconsciously; well, he never could resist an animal in distress. Gladio squeezed his bicep once, to the point of pain, and let go.

Ignis cleared his throat. "Have I slept long?"

"About five hours this time, I think. Time for breakfast!"

Ignis tried to raise himself to the sitting position, but his arms lacked the power. He hissed through his teeth, annoyed at himself. It was hard to keep track of days, even though they always told him when he asked, but it'd been more than five days since they had found him. Under Prompto's cheerful tyranny he had graduated from IV lines and juice to bland porridge and granola bars, but he still couldn't do something as simple as sitting by himself.

Gladio grasped his shoulders, firmly and gently, and pulled him up. Ignis flinched before he could stop himself, and could feel the answering flinch in Gladio's hands. The idea of apologizing was exhausting; the idea of Gladio seeing him like this is even more so, but to be fair, what did it matter? They had already seen how low he could be brought, and there was nowhere else to fall. He wished he could find comfort in this newfound freedom.

"Gladio," Prompto said, "come help me get the food."

"Got you," Gladio grumbled.

Ignis wanted to tell them that this subterfuge was unnecessary. He wanted to tell Prompto that he was not a _child_, and that he could handle Prompto leaving the room and coming back, could handle being left alone with Gladio - but the truth was, he didn't believe it himself.

_Noct pitied you, and look where it got him. Some advisor you turned to be, Iggy._

He shook his head, trying to dislodge Gladio's - Ardyn's, Ardyn's - voice from his ears. Sometimes it felt like it soaked into his skin the same way his own waste and sweat and tears had done, corroding it, leaving bleeding sores.

Prompto came back with Gladio on his heels. The smell of porridge, bland and slightly overcooked as it was, should've been exciting: Ignis' stomach growled with want, but he couldn't find anything but abstract recognition. It smelled like food, but the prospect of eating felt like an exhausting, uphill struggle. The lethargy swept through him, weighing him down.

But if he'd refused the food he would upset and frighten Prompto, and he's been enough of a nuisance already. At least he was deemed well enough to grapple with the spoon by himself, and Gladio had the foresight to spread a napkin over his chest. He scooped some porridge, brought it to his mouth, swallowed, and repeated the motion. He imagined Gladio and Prompto watching him _impressed he can master such a trick_ no, no. Relieved to see him recovering, surely. After all, only his infirmity was keeping them confined to the house.

He ate dutifully and idly wondered whether the lack of taste was due to subpar ingredients, Prompto's cooking, or simply some new facet of his depredation. After he choked the food down the bowl was whisked away and Prompto mercifully stayed just shy of wiping his mouth.

He made himself speak. "Thank you for the meal. I"m sure that at this rate I'll be back on my feet in less than a couple of weeks. Surely you're sorely missed in your duties."

Gladio made an explosive exhale somewhere deeper in the room, but stayed silent. Prompto came back to his side, though, took his hand again. "You're not on a schedule, dude, and we're not leaving you."

_Look how well it worked out the first time_, Ignis heard, and this time it didn't need Ardyn's poisoned undertone for it to sting. He opened his mouth, but just the idea of the argument was insurmountable. Why bother? They'd come to their senses soon enough regardless of what he'd say or do.

He sank deeper into his bedding, and Prompto fussed with his sheets, straightened the pillows just so. "Do you want me to read to you, Ignis? All we have is one of Gladio's romance novels, but Iris will find us something better afterward if you'd like."

"Yes," Ignis said, and let the excuse to allow him to go back to sleep.

* * *

Gladio bullied Ignis back to his feet several days after, and Ignis discovered, to his immense mortification, that whatever slight progress he'd made with adjusting to his lost sight before, it had been wiped out completely. He stumbled and misjudged distances; the cane felt alien and useless in his hands. His legs shook; his body turned any touch, no matter how slight, into a scrape or a bruise, and the organized, limited dimensions of the house melted into one lumpy mass of darkness, confusion, and danger.

He would've preferred Prompto as a witness to his humiliation, but Prompto had curled up in the corner of the sofa and fell asleep. Gladio had Ignis verify with his hands, touch softly the contours of Prompto's face to make sure. It stung. His exhaustion was fading day by day; he was, almost against his own volition, becoming stronger and more aware, and that meant that the numbness went as well, leaving burning, stinging shame in its wake.

And so there he was, clutching his cane, Gladio hovering by his shoulder like a judgmental shadow.

"The floor is clear," Gladio said, "And I put the coffee table away, too. Fifteen steps there, fifteen steps back."

"I _know_," Ignis hissed at him, and winced at his own behavior. "I apologize. I did live here."

He could feel the heat from Gladio's palm, close to his elbow but not touching. "Come on. Four laps, and you can eat and sleep."

The living room stretched in front of him like a nightmare. Prompto on his sofa, not three steps away from them, might as well be on another continent. Leaving the angry safety of Gladio's presence felt impossible. What if he stumbled, what if he fell, what if he walked forever and the room didn't end, what if...

\- what if he turned back, and -

_Just a coward, aren't you? I always knew that's what you are._

Ignis took a step, then another, expecting to find a yawning abyss with each tap of his cane. Ardyn had no patience for long games, he reminded himself. He'd heal him quickly, make him feel hale and whole before crushing him again without this grueling interlude.

He tried to imagine Ardyn burning a pan of porridge in his kitchen, and was startled by the bark of laughter that burst forward.

"What's that?"

He turned to Gladio, suddenly daring. "Just trying to imagine the Chancellor cooking in my kitchen. Wearing my apron, no doubt."

Gladio's beat of silence made him stumble on the next step, catch his breath. "Gladio?"

"It's nothing," Gladio said, quickly. "We cleaned the house while you were sleeping, it's fine."

_Six_.

He wanted to ask - wanted to know - every surface in the apartment felt desecrated, tainted, breathing with malice. He couldn't map his way around the living room, but he could _feel_ for a moment where the cellar door was, could see the path down to it laid out in bright blinking lights. If it would help he'd beg Gladio on his knees to take him away from this place. And Gladio would tell him that the only spaces in Lestallum they'd find would be packed with people, and remind him that it was his fear and his cowardice making it untenable.

He made another step. Then another. Then third. Eventually, his cane hit the wall, finding it exactly where it was supposed to be. He pivoted and walked back. Gladio paced him without touching. On the sofa Prompto slept on, snoring lightly. Ignis walked the distance - laughably small, there and back - once more without much difficulty; on the third circuit he began lagging, the muscles in his legs aching with strain.

"You've got it," Gladio said, without censure. "One more. If you fall, I'll catch you."

_Would you_ was on the tip of Ignis' tongue, but he swallowed it. _Why should you care_, likewise. He gritted his teeth and made another step. If nothing else, regaining his footing will allow them to be released from nanny duty. Doing useful work for the community, leaving him alone so he could - well. So he could become a crazy hermit and greet every person coming to his door with a dagger through their throats, most likely.

Not that it would help.

As if sensing his thoughts, or maybe as if his own were running on the same tracks, Gladio said, hesitant in the way Gladio rarely was, "We've never asked, but - how did it happen? How did he get you?"

Ignis stumbled, and Gladio caught him, steadied him without effort. "You don't have to tell me. It's..."

The grooves of the cane's carved head bit the skin of Ignis' palm. He made himself continue walking. "It was evening. You came to the house. You were alone, said Prompto left on some business and will come over later. We talked. I don't remember the details, but it was - " and he has to catch _surprisingly_ behind his teeth - "quite civil. I'm tempted to say I began suspecting something over the conversation, but I can't be sure."

Step, step, step. He was breathing harshly and told himself it was from the exertion. "Eventually I felt tired, so I told - you - I was going to retire. I've gotten up and turned to the bedroom, and then - I remember falling. I think I was hit from behind, by something heavy - it all became confusing for a while. I can't tell you."

"Iggy..."

He stumbled again and caught himself this time, speaking faster. "I woke up - I came to myself - I was down there. I couldn't move. The fit was too tight. I tried to - I couldn't..."

"I get it, I saw it," Gladio said roughly. "Did he - "

"He didn't hurt me," Ignis said and laughed a bit at the absurdity of the thought. "I couldn't access the armiger, couldn't - sometimes he'd open the box to give me some water. And the rest of the time he'd sit on top of the box and - talk."

"As himself?"

Prompto's voice from the sofa, wretched. Ignis didn't even hear him wake up. He lost the walls again, lost his sense of direction. His tongue wouldn't stop betraying him.

"No," he said. "Not as himself, no."

His cane hit the wall; he put his back to it and slid down, and Gladio let him. There were light, unsure footsteps; Prompto sat down next to him, pressed himself into Ignis' side. After a long moment, Gladio sat on the other side, leaving empty space between their shoulders.

"I realized," he said, "of course, rather quickly; I remembered what happened to you on the train. But after a while..."

"Yeah."

Gladio, sounding as if he was on the bottom of a well, straining for a glimpse of light, "Was it just us? That he pretended to be."

_Why didn't you tell me_, beloved, accusing voice, and he knew it was a lie, and he believed it nevertheless. _Why didn't you tell me. I thought you cared about me, Specs. Why did you..._

The pause was growing too long; he couldn't breathe. "Yes," he said, and then, desperately, to throw them off the trail, "and - one day you - he - he took me out of the box, he r-rescued me, I didn't believe him, but he - you - it sounded so real, and I was - there was water, and..."

Gladio swore, low and obscene. Prompto gasped. "When did he turn back on you?"

"When I called him Gladio," Ignis said. Compared to his other secret, what was that one defeat? "I knew it was too good to be true. But I wanted it to be."

Gladio surged to his feet, bent down to drag Ignis up, his fingers merciless and fever-hot on Ignis' shoulder. "Up," he said. "Godsdamn son of a bitch doesn't - you still have fifteen steps to do."

Prompto's chiding "Gladio!" got roundly ignored.

"We came," Gladio said. "We came, and we've got you, and I'd be damned if he gets to fuck you up for good. This is for real. Up, come on."

Ignis refused to budge. "You think it's going to help? Wh - if he comes again, it's going to help if I'm able to walk again? He knew I was the weak link, he chose me!"

Gladio let go of his shoulder as if he'd been burned; there was a furious _thump_ over Ignis head, flakes of plaster raining down into Ignis' too-long hair.

"Bullshit," Prompto said, clear and crisp. "Complete bullshit. He's got some creepy magic mojo, he can freeze people, he can shapeshift - he walked through us in Zegnatus like we weren't even there, and I would know, I _shot him dead_. He could've killed all three of us at any goddamn moment he chose, so don't - "

"Then _why didn't he_?"

Appalled, twin silences and Ignis wished he could snatch the words back, cram them into his mouth. But why didn't he; why didn't he; why was Ignis still _here_, exhausted and hurt but essentially none - ha - the worse for wear?

Gladio pulled him to his feet again, and this time Ignis didn't resist. "I don't know, and I don't care. Whatever fucked up games he played, I'll take them over coming home and finding you _dead_."

Ignis swayed on his feet, and Prompto jumped up, steadying him from the other side. "Hey. Big guy is right. And maybe one day Ardyn won't know what hit him, how about that?"

If they knew - if only he could bring himself to tell them. He nodded instead, numb with anticipatory grief.

"Come on," Gladio said, "fifteen more steps," and Ignis, exhausted to the bone, allowed them to tow him through them, first to the last.

* * *

Ignis woke up to Gladio shaking his shoulder. There was a familiar lurch of fear, but Gladio whispered _Henruit_ to him faster than it could take hold. The system wasn't foolproof, in Ignis' opinion; he could think of several ways to circumvent it, but he was either to accept its dubious protection or chain Prompto and Gladio together for the rest of their lives. So he managed.

Some days it helped to remind himself that Ardyn likely never needed to bother with the subterfuge in the first place, and that if he wanted to come back and finish what he began he could do just that. Some days it didn't.

"Rise and shine," Gladio said, obnoxiously loud for whatever hour it was. "I've cashed some favors and twisted some elbows, and we have a hunter training hall to ourselves in an hour."

Ignis shook his head, trying to clear the remains of adrenaline high. "I don't follow?"'

"Just get up and get ready. Where are your workout clothes? I'll get food ready. Chop-chop, it's about twenty minutes on foot from there."

He all but pushed Ignis into the bathroom, and left, presumably to disrupt Ignis' kitchen. Ignis decided he could just as well confront Gladio with his teeth brushed and his hair combed. He _really_ needed to ask somebody to cut it, loath as he was to allow anybody near himself with a sharp implement. Prompto assured him he looked _nice and hip, Igster_, but Ignis imagined it just made him look unkempt and infirm.

Irrelevant. He rummaged in the drawers - his "training clothes" were a thing of the past, but there was a pair of stretchy enough trousers and a t-shirt he couldn't remember owning on one of the shelves. Hopefully without anything inappropriate printed on it.

He followed Gladio in the kitchen, sternly taking his body through another habitual jolt of terror. "Gladio, I don't think..."

"Sit."

Gladio pushed a granola bar in his hand. Those things, at least, he loathed in a way unrelated to his recent issues with food, but he appreciated the difficulty of getting a steady supply of food suitable for his fragile stomach. Momentarily silenced by obligation, he tore the wrapper off. Gladio was, judging by the sounds, making tea.

"For one thing, you need to build up your muscle mass. For the other, you need to get used to going out and walking past people again, and Iris and Talcott don't count. And finally, you're not getting on the road until I know you can defend yourself in a pinch, so we're going to work on that. We're low on potions, we can't just rough it out like we did the first time."

. "I wasn't aware I was getting on the road."

Gladio was in his space suddenly, startling him. He dropped to his knees next to Ignis' chair, put his hands on Ignis legs. The low intensity of his voice made goosebumps rise all over Ignis' arms.

"Iggy. Until Noct comes back, I'm not letting either you or Prompto out of my sight. Not when we know that Ardyn's out there. If it means you're going hunting with us, then you're going hunting with us."

"That's quite a - change. In your outlook."

Gladio's palms covered his knees entirely. He could probably circle either Ignis' bicep or his calve with his thumb and forefinger, easy. Imagining the guilt on his face was unbearable.

"Look where my outlook got us," Gladio said. Then he was back on his feet, busy with mugs and teabags and the stove, and Ignis did not have the heart to refuse him.

Technically it wasn't his first excursion outside. He's done some walking around the block already, flanked by Prompto and Gladio, trying not to get deafened and overwhelmed by noises and echoes all around. But this trip felt different. Gladio assured him the training hall would be completely empty, with nobody to bother them, and it was early enough that there weren't that many passers-by to - _stare at him, pity him, scorn him_ \- watch for. But having a destination in mind still made it feel new and uncomfortable.

The smell, at least, was familiar. State-of-art Crownsguard training facilities or a run-down ex-gym, all training spaces stank of sweat and effort and creaky leather. He inhaled this mix deeply, grateful for some semblance of normality.

"Okay," Gladio said, breaking into his thoughts. "Warm up first, and then we'll see where you are right now."

He slid into the familiar stretching routine almost without noticing: at least this his body remembered it despite the yawning chasm between 'then' and 'now'. Gladio hovered, corrected his stance a couple of times, stopped him when he thought Ignis' recovering muscles couldn't handle a position, but otherwise offered no comment. It was familiar and comforting too, an echo of joint training sessions from so long ago. The slow, warm burn of the stretch was so different from phantom pain of folded up and cramped limbs that still assaulted him sometimes, he could have cried in gratitude.

But when Gladio gave him wooden training daggers and led him to the mats, things began falling apart. His body remembered the stance as well, and the wooden hilts fit his palms correctly, but the moment Gladio stepped away he dissolved into the writhing mess of shadows and light without a trace. The training hall seemed much bigger than it had any right to be, a vast echoing space full of lurking dangers. Ignis strained to hear for the whisper of Gladio's feet against the floor and couldn't catch it; his experimental lunge felt ridiculously off-target, a child's attempt at play-fighting.

He tried to remind himself that he'd managed to stick with the group after Altissia, that he'd killed daemons and gave tactical advice, but it didn't help. Groping for Gladio in the dark felt insurmountable; his movements were clumsy, imbalanced, lacking power. He could've sworn he heard mocking laughter from the corners, pitying whispers. For a moment he was seized with the fantasy that Gladio lied to him, and the gym was actually full of hunters, coming to gawk and point.

He flailed with the daggers. Gladio called out the directions, never where Ignis expected to be, the patience in his voice obviously straining to the tearing point. Finally, he said, "Okay, let's try me coming at you instead. Do your best to get me down."

Ignis gaped in his direction; even back when they had been training together in Insomnia, and he was on the peak of his physical form, fighting Gladio in close quarters meant one victory out of every five, and that's if he had _tried_. What was Gladio thinking - and Gladio was already in his space, towering body and creak of leather and, insultingly, not even smell of sweat, like he wasn't even worked up.

Ignis struck out mindlessly with the daggers, and Gladio evaded them with insulting ease, caught Ignis' wrists in the iron grip, and let them go. "Again." Ignis managed to duck under the hit, but ended up caught in an insultingly gentle choke hold. "Again." He didn't even touch Gladio. "Again." His body refused to -

He slid to his knees, panting, and the daggers hit the mat with a hollow thump. After a beat Gladio followed him seized Ignis' shoulders with the force that would leave bruises on the next day.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Get up and fight!"

"What _for_?"

Gladio pushed him away with enough force Ignis' back hit the mats, breath driven out of him. Then he hauled Ignis back on his knees. Ignis hung limply, allowing himself to be held. His heart beat wildly, but not in fear.

"Don't fucking _give me that_. Ardyn couldn't scare the fight out of you so badly. What about Noct?"

Ignis shuddered in his hands. _Why didn't you tell me?_

The space around them was deadly silent. Gladio shook him, once, twice, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and rough. "I was so fucking angry at you, you can't imagine. Why were you at that altar? Why did it have to be you? It was my job! It was my place!"

He yanked Ignis to him, dropped his forehead against Ignis' shoulder, muffled his words into the cloth. "You shamed me so badly, and then you dared to - just - give up. Ardyn didn't do it to you, Iggy, I swear, I thought you'd carve my liver out before you'd allow me to leave you behind to play house, blind or not, so why? _Why_?"

Inside of Ignis, something enormous finally gave way. "Because," he whispered into Gladio's ear, "I didn't protect him at all."

Gladio let go of him; for a moment he saw the both of them as if from above, absurdly formal tableau, kneeling across from each other, reflecting in each other like a pair of crooked mirrors.

"Explain," Gladio said.

So Ignis told him. About the vision bestowed by the Messenger, about Noct dying on the throne, pierced by his father's sword. About where all their roads led, however much they twisted and turned.

And then, when there was nothing else to lose, he let another confession spill. "He came to me as Noct - he came to me and raged, and asked me why I would betray him so. He cried. He begged me to save him, and he cursed me, and I - what could I say? Even knowing that it wasn't him in truth, what could I say?"

Gladio was silent. Ignis hung his head; the tie in his hair slithered open, letting the strands hide his eyes. He always did so hate the feeling of hair touching his face. His hands slipped off his knees, laid on the mats, palms open, useless.

"Maybe," he whispered, "it was what I deserved."

His head exploded with pain; he lurched back, blindsided and jerked into hair-raising awareness. Gladio hit him with an open palm, without pulling the hit in the slightest, and blood from where his teeth cut the inside of his cheek was already flooding his mouth.

"Don't you fucking dare," Gladio hissed. "Don't you dare even _think_ Noct would have wanted it for you."

Then, in a different tone of voice altogether: "Shit. Shit, Iggy, I'm sorry, I didn't - let me see."

His fingers skimmed Ignis' cheekbone, gently, questioningly, and Ignis leaned into the touch. "Gladio," he said, "what are we going to do?"

"Doesn't seem to be broken," Gladio muttered. "Shiva's mercy, Ignis, I don't know. I don't..."

After the earthquake came the flood: Ignis' tears slid down Gladio's fingers, dripped into Ignis' mouth. Gladio pulled Ignis to himself, sat him against his chest, bracketed him with his legs. "He is the king. When he comes back, he'll get to decide whether he wants to fight or run."

His heartbeat against Ignis' back; for a moment Ignis imagined it was his own heart beating. "And will you stay by him? If he runs?"

"By him," Gladio said. "By Prompto. By you. Whatever happens. I'm done losing you, and I'm done losing. From there on, either we all win or we all fail."

"I'm terrified," Ignis said.

"You've always been a smart guy," Gladio said, and Ignis hiccuped with a burst of laughter.

They drifted for a while; Gladio's warmth soaked into Ignis bones, spread through him slowly and surely. Even the throbbing of his cheekbone felt comforting, after a while.

Just on the cusp of exhausted sleep, he blinked himself awake instead, climbed to his feet slowly from the safe circle of Gladio's arms.

"I suppose," he said, "I still owe you a proper training session."

"Damn yes you do," Gladio snorted, rolling to his feet. "Back to work?"

He flexed his hands, leaned down, and managed to locate his daggers on the second try. The mocking whispers stopped; they were alone, and the mats were familiar and steady under his feet.

"Back to work."

* * *

The first haven out of Lestallum Ignis reached in a surprisingly benign mood. Gladio proposed checking up on how Coernix outpost was holding up as something of Ignis' trial field run, and Ignis had, if he said so himself, accounted for himself quite decently.

He kept up with Gladio and Prompto with just two or three falls, despite the rough landscape, and did his share of goblin-fighting with minimum assistance. Fighting daemons turned out to be easier than training with Gladio or Iris or the hunters Gladio roped in to help him: in a weird, unexpected boon they registered to his sense of magic, making it possible to track them without relying on his hearing alone.

The daemon goo clinging to his clothes was much less pleasant; there _was_ an aspect to his travels he didn't miss. But there was something satisfying, in and out of himself, in being able to help Prompto with the cleanup. Dinner was going to come from a tin can since Gladio was in charge of it, but - perhaps, Ignis thought, he could apply himself to relearning the craft when they stayed somewhere. It wouldn't do to leave Noct without a welcome meal when he came back.

The stab of sorrow was automatic, familiar; he breathed around it and hoped Prompto didn't notice. Back in Lestallum Prompto had taken the news hard; there had been something of a shameful relief in not being the focus of attention for once, to offer support instead of being supported. Since then they'd set to relearning how to function together, with no secrets or bitterness in-between, but the knowledge of Noct's fate traveled with them, an unseen shadow.

(He was pretty sure Gladio set four chairs around the fire when setting camp, and didn't notice.)

In the evening, when they sat around the fire, with their plates empty and stacked to the side, Prompto spoke up.

"Can I ask you something? About - about that time. You don't have to answer."

The fear came, but as a shadow of itself; it was easy to find the rest of himself. "Of course."

"It's just," Prompto said, reluctantly. "I keep thinking about it. When he had me. In Zegnatus, it was - it was scary, and he hurt me, and he mocked me, and said shit to me, but it didn't... It didn't feel personal, you know? He was just being an asshole, amusing himself while he waited for Noct to show up. Why did he go to all this - why pretend to be Noct?"

He added, quick and sharp, before Ignis had a chance to gather his thoughts. "And don't give me this 'weak link' bullshit again. If he just wanted to hurt you, why - he could've just tortured you. Gave you a villain monologue."

"Looked like torture to me," Gladio said darkly.

"No," Ignis said, and waited for the chorus of shadow voices that didn't come. "No, Prompto's right. It felt like a personal grudge. But I don't know how I could've earned it. Even at the altar, knowing what we know about his abilities now... I'm afraid he was just toying with me."

"I don't," Prompto said, "I'm not just trying to be a dick and stir it all up. But he's the only one who _knows_ something, and it's not like we can find him and shake him down for info. And if there's a chance..."

His voice broke and petered out; to Ignis' right, Gladio was breathing in harsh, measured exhales. And so Ignis leaned forward and planted his feet, dug his fingers into his temples, relishing the clean pressure of leather on skin, and made himself remember. Two months of voices just outside his reach, mocking, and pleading, and cursing, and lashing out. And that one time, with gasping cries in the dark, Noct's voice twisting in sorrow, and he _knew_, and he still ached...

He opened his eyes, and the shadows of their fire danced in what was left of his visual world. "When," he said, slowly, feeling out each step in the treacherous maze, "when he was pretending to be you or Gladio, it was just cruelty. But when he talked to me as Noct..."

"You wore the Ring for Noct," Gladio said, "and he set out to torture you and tell you Noct thought you betrayed him. Seems to me that this was what set him off."

Prompto bounded out of his chair, put his hand on Ignis' shoulder. "Who _is_ this guy?"

Something dangerous and horribly wondrous was taking shape in Ignis' mind; rusted cogs and wheels slowly beginning to turn. "Whoever he is, he cares too much about the loyalty to the royal line of Lucis than he should. As if he has a personal stake in the matter. Perhaps we'll find some answers - "

"In the royal tombs," Gladio finished. "Do you think?"

He surged to his feet; the path was unfolding before his feet, step after step. "I think," he said, "we can but do our best to find out."

Gladio joined them, pulled them to him, and Ignis tipped his head against his shoulder. "A lot of ground to cover before our king comes home."

The lid of the box, opening. The three of them, exactly where they needed to be.

"Then we'd best apply ourselves."


End file.
